cómo podemos respirar
bajo este lenguaje



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︎atrás



esta obra fue mi primera “Kitchen Presentation”  durante mis estudios en
Dutch Art Intitute 2020. La performance tuvo lugar en la ciudad de Túnez. 


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You have to be yourself the best that you can.

I am very much me. I’m still a wireless human.

You have to embrace your own monsters. It’s ok to be bad sometimes, you don’t have to feel guilty about it. But the word bad also stands as moral statement, as if worrying about your own feelings was the wrong thing to do, as if being good applies only when you put yourself after the others. I don’t want to be either good or bad, just being.

Can you be with me being?

But isn’t it the time to stop proving that you exist?
Can you stop being that much of a being being?

Kill yourself but keep living? Would you do that for us?

But then which hand should I hold?

Maybe there is no hand to hold, not human as you know it.
Maybe its just about breathing together and develop new symbols of love

Communicating Sharing
No secrets Living together
Have projects Travel
No secrets
Communicating
Have friends in common
Don’t have friends in common
Spend time together
No secrets
Remain independent
Communicating
Show them how happy they make you be demonstrative
No secrets
They can’t read your thoughts you know Communicating
Sharing
No secrets

Can I disappear into the landscape?
May I have your permission to become part of that rock over there? Do you see?
Now look at me, can you see me? Im here deep in the pores of the rough surface,
the same pores built by salt and water. The waves are crashing on us.
We remain still.

You can’t stay still, your cells keep dividing. And even if you die,
the worms will move your eyeballs as they eat them. And then you ll be re incarnated
in peoples memories and dreams. You will never stop moving, movement its our course.
There is no way out of movement. X2

what about the bodies that don’t want to perform, that don’t want to move,
that only want to breathe, to be still, to contemplate without being contemplated.
Isn’t being still a politic statement? Why we should generate more movement?

The need to be the shadow of someone/something else.

I want to date myself.

Does my shadow mix with the shadows of the objets around you?
Can you difference mine from the teapot ’s? Mine is stretching from it,
crawling down the flowers of the plastic table cloth, as It embrace the waving
smoke coming from your fingers.
Do you want skin instead of dreams?

Even in cloudy days I prefer spending time with your projection.

You have a dream catcher necklace hanging out of your oxygen backpack.
It’s swings backwards and forwards every time you run after those monster
aliens that you try to kill so desperately.

The problem I had with you is that I put you on a pedestal.

You have to put yourself in a pedestal first, only then (maybe) you can lend
your hand to someone else to share some space with you.
That is what they say anyway.
Up there there is no room for failure, you have to be perfect,
you have to full- fill that fantasy.
It was my fantasy too.
I was so perfect that they didn’t even want to fucked me and when they did I wasn’t perfect enough to enjoy myself I hate that pedestal. Me too I hate that fucking pedestal.

I don’t want to get that close tho. Can I just be a stalker?
Can I just watch you while you talk to others?
Can I just be a witness of your existence? Ghost Lover Ashes licker.

Insult me.Name me

Party Boy Rave Lover Fuck Boy Condom Breaker Fast Fingers Gold Seeker
Menstrual Clown Face Tongue Stripper Pussy Licker Robot Clit Finder

I just want us to be friends. You can sleep also with my friend. I want all of us to be friends.
We can love together, fuck together, be loud together, let’s lock ourselves in our rooms
together, high and horny, wet and sticky. Let the world pass through our windows,
maybe your moans can shut the riots on the streets. Maybe the smell of your sweat can
disguise the smoke of the black tired burning down stairs.

But Don’t go downstairs.

Is there even room for me?
How do I build my boundaries?
Should them be eatable? Maybe from strawberry flavored mdma

Can I gather your pieces and make me a new you?
I will download your profile data. They say it is all about the input.
I will input you, I will feed you with yourself.
Then can you answer some questions? But just be natural.
They like you human but not that much. There this gap you know more like a valley.
Too real for be real? Too real its suspicious?

Since there is no truth, let it be mine.

Melt with me in this coded landscape, between the ones and zeros, they won’t find us.

The other day I went gravity climbing on those metal mountains they have
now near the center. They are getting kind of rusty, a lot of those tourists mooners
come to have their brunches over there and they spend hours staring at their own home
satellite trough the reflection in the metal surface. Isn’t that narcissistic?

Who thought the moon was an option anyway, It got polluted faster that my toilet.
Wasn’t a mooner part of the new sustainable swimming team?

Are they gone? All those blood sucker parasites. If you want my dark matter
Come into the black hole.

You are missing the opportunity to be with someone as good as me. You will never have
another chance. You are missing a big opportunity. Did I mention the
only-in-a-lifetime-opportunity your are missing here?

I don’t like that city, It has that energy like you go there and suddenly you’ve been
out partying for a year and a half.

Can I stop being on a deconstructive state? As soon as I glue back the pieces together
they tell me to spread them again. I always keep this one little piece in secret,
they will be staring with their mouths open, not knowing which train had just hit
them when they find out.

Deconstruction is being capitalized anyway.

The other day I look into the moon and saw myself laying on my bed years from now,
my skin full of winkles, my hair white, I was there also looking at the same moon,
remembering my younger self cycling on that winter road, as the moonlight delimited
the bare trees around me. I wondered if I was living the present or if I was already
part of a memory.

Let’s twerk until we die.
You are so full of white European guilt. X2 Why are you dancing?

I - enjoy-being-in-a warm-basement-listening-to hard-techno-dancing-by-myself-alone-among others-but-all-together-Nothing-else-happens-there-only-beats-coming-and going-beats-beating your head-your bod- Heart-beats-that join-the woofers-hands-vibrating-tickling-High-carbon-ated-air-breathing-in-each others-breaths-smelling-like-black-cotton-warm-beer-cold-SWEAT-dry -saliva-SWEET-tears.The cold water in the neck-the bathroom talks-smiles of true delight as the music hit-harder- and the lungs -explode- Hairs that tangle-skins wet-pores open.

Don’t you call me babe.
Don’t you call me sweetie.
Don’y you call me darling.
Don’t you call me at all.
Don’t say my name as you own it.

Every time I want to touch you you disappear.

You are not touching me but your idea of me
You say you listen but I do believe that the words I say transform themselves by the time they reach your ears. They have their own life , words do as they please.

Nothing created in a true collective way remains still. Everything created in a collective way remains still.

It is funny seeing us rot in the land we have stolen.

From the boat to the space ship

From the skin to the guts from the guts to the sink . From the bone to the whom

Nature has no time while I’m a time based , slave of a false present useless being.

Don’t you think that sharing cats on Instagram is also animal exploitation?

Please remove your items. Please remove your items. Please remove your items. Please remove your items. Have a nice day.

We try to save that giant jellyfish stuck on the beach but the only thing we accomplish was getting a ghost smell of death.
No insta-recipe for that.
We run with our coats in our hands. We smiled all day.

I remember when you and X went corpse hunting into Chacarita’s cemetery. You showed me the pictures of that half decomposing body dressed in a yellow suit. His hair was still there, so yellow, his skin also bright yellow. The government advertise itself with balloons. Also yellow. The light when you broke up with me was yellow. That stupid song yellow ruining this right now.

I don’t celebrate birthdays anymore. I have crazy ideas for parties that I end up cancel two hours before. I say to my self - Stop being so grim but I don’t.

People that are no longer here: Bepi De Monte: cancer Gabriela De Monte: suicide Mariano Garate: HIV

Martin Barusse: train accident Mario Mangiante: cancer

Our brains are living longer than ever before.

Stripes on stripes

Every time I bike home at night I see the grass moving as little white and soft tails
of bunnies jump around trying to hide themselves in the dark bushes.
Does nature can see itself? I’m humanly lucky to be able to conquer images and moments with that word: Beauty.
But am I?

That kangaroo was running while burning alive. You smelt the hairs and the flesh as they turned into ashes. Too bad you felt so emancipated from this pain after only two months of crying and sharing tweets.

You kiss like a fish grabbing air as it dies outside the water .

Words are like scents that slowly fade away. Maybe nobody cares about smell
anymore since it reminds us how everything changes, mutate and disappear into
something else. I smell like trees, rain and rabbits tonight.

Love feels so special every time but Love has the same symptoms every time

Can you see me? Can, you see me?

Words are traps of time.

They asked us where we would like to sleep. You connected your eyes with mines and
we both answered that we will share the sofa. We lay together and as I was turning my
back to you you asked me if I could hug you. “It’s nothing sexual” you said. “
just that it is nice to sleep embracing another person if you have an opportunity ”.
I was already hugging you by the time you finished that sentence. I put my leg around yours
and I felt your body reacting. In the middle of the night you stood up and left the house in a shivering hurry. I waved a goodbye to the shadow of you, framed by the light of the hallway
and your hand in the keychain ..... You closed the door behind you and from that moment
on we have this ghost kiss between us, chasing us.

My body is a weapon my weapon has no body

Is it true that the more we record the less we remember? Can our brains switch Memory?

You are addicted to the same trip
Of all the realities among us maybe you prefer that one, the one in which you recognize all the symptoms but still act surprised.

I have only five steps of dancing which I iterate each time into something for you
to stare at me and maybe approach me,
whisper something in my ear as you disappear into the smoke in the basement.
I spent the next hour whispering your unknown name,
calling you because I’ve already missed you.
You appear behind me hours after saying you had a ketamine bad trip.
We kiss and I was trapped between the hard wall and your hard dick.

The more - I read -about this -the more I urge -for a collective suicide Facebook group.
Let’s end it.

You wait for me with candles all over your house. What a waste. You played piano for me,
some song no one knows, I act like I was enjoying myself when all I wanted to do was to
run away from your sad Boy Scout boring life. Even the photo album you showed me was
probably the last photo album of any interesting event you will ever had in your life.
I hated you and I loved me so much that day. I put a teen age alternative rock album
and I dance the whole night while you were probably masturbating thinking in what you
assumed it will happen with just some lame candle lights.

You just like your girlfriend because she talks like me. You are a second brand consumer.

You thought that fancy house will impressed me. You brag about things that don’t
actually belong to you . I remain cynically silent with this stupid smile in my face that
everyone confuses with sympathy.

There is no future as we keep seeing it in a straight line from the past.
We are going always backwards. Past is not past. Past was past.

I face the Past with eyes on my hind head , you think that will save me?

Download yourself into the dreams of tomorrow and dry your eyes.

Twenty First Century is a road and we are on the wrong side of it